


We're Only Good 'Cause You Can Have Almost-Famous Friends

by toxicNeurosis, zimmer2d



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: F/M, Lotsa Smut, Too lazy for sex tags rn, We wrote this instead of sleeping, ill do it later i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 09:42:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8139461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toxicNeurosis/pseuds/toxicNeurosis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zimmer2d/pseuds/zimmer2d
Summary: This is unacceptable. The man is on the verge of a terrible headache. You have to do something. You wrack your brain until you have a headache yourself for some kind of plan, something to distract people…(Phase 1)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Wowee, this turned out long.
> 
> Anyway, gotta thank zim for suggesting the collab, and quite honestly she wrote most of it, so I'll try to carry my own weight next time, bro.
> 
> Nothing like some delicious smut at almost 12 in the morning, eh? For me, at least.

You’re more than a little creeped out by all the visitors Kong has been getting lately, for many more reasons than one. They sort of just phase into existence in the lobby and poke their noses in every cranny they can find, private room or not. The place is full of these people, if you can even call them people. They’re just pitch-black shadows that look like people, no distinct facial features or sex and neither one of them has a distinct form; they just sort of collapse in on themselves and mold into something new. One minute one shadow may be a tall thin man, the next a short plump woman, the very next something like a small child. They try to speak but it’s more like reading words printed on a screen than hearing voices. They ask questions and make comments and pick fights with other shadows, sometimes even the Gorillaz band members.

You really do wish they would leave because they’re crowding the place and it makes it difficult to sleep or get up to other personal matters. Also because it’s only a matter of time before one of them finds the secret control panel behind the desk and winds up killing itself by pushing the wrong button or pulling the wrong lever, especially _that_ lever. You’ve asked Murdoc what must be a half-hundred times why Kong even has that lever. He shrugs and says the Russian Roulette situation makes dropping into a bottomless black pit as opposed to, say, the recording studio more fun. It surely can’t be truly bottomless if he’s returned from dropping down it so many times, but you don’t bring it up. It’s some sort of meta bullshit and you don’t want the headache that ensues trying to figure it out.

The weird thing about them is that they’re corporeal; you can whack them, not like the ghosts that frequent the building. They don’t like it when you whack them and they make staticky noises like they’re mad about it, but then they chill out and head somewhere else.

“What are these things anyway?” you ask Murdoc one day as you’re busy swatting at a cluster of spirits in the corner like you might swat at cobwebs. The end of your broom phases through them harmlessly. Honestly you should have thought twice about accepting that internship, turned around when you realized you weren’t even going to get paid for trying to get rid of the ghosts and zombies and the massive-ass rats in the cellar. Those rats aren’t scared of anything and they multiply like mad, even Murdoc won’t go down there unless he’s in dire need of booze.

“Remember when we launched th’website an’ we tol’ our fans they could explore Kong from their computers?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it took a little, uh, voodoo t’make that ‘appen, an’ this is the result. They ain’ our fans, jus’ representations of our fans, one for every person online at any given time. I thought it would be good for a laugh, but it turns out the only one laughin’ now is Beelzebub, the dullard.” He plucks a cigarette from his pocket and lights it, aiming the smoke at the detector on the ceiling in an attempt to set it off. He fails and scowls a bit. “‘M gettin’ real tired of ‘em diggin’ ‘round in my drawers, y’know, not much fun for me if ‘m still in ‘em. I like ‘ands down my pants but not like this, y’know.” He blows another smoke ring at the smoke detector, misses and scowls again, sits and props his Cuban heeled boots up on the tabletop. Dammit, you just cleaned that. Another sour note of your unpaid internship: these guys are well-known for trashing a room in minutes, leaving you to spend hours cleaning up the aftermath and then wrecking it all again in a fraction of the time it took cleaning it. Parties are the absolute worst and you’re tempted to go on strike if there’s ever another one, even if you know damn well it won’t do jack shit for you.

If you ever get a promotion Murdoc better pay you well for all the shit you put up with in this horror house or you will execute a perfect fucking swan dive off the handle.

Yes, it seems like there’s simply no solace in taking this accursed job, except for maybe one or two things, the first being the sweet little one that’s seemingly, _seemingly_ , unafraid of the paranormal activity around her. You remember her unorthodox introduction as Noodle; her guitar solo and the 20-foot kick she executed left you rather impressed, but for the love of God she leaves a worse trail of destruction than a tribe of children! Still, she behaves like an eight-year-old should, unlike Murdoc’s Methuselah ass. There are some nights where the things that go bump in the night (and day) will frighten the poor thing, and she’ll cower in her bed until your other bit of peace goes in to calm her.

Sometimes he takes his melodica, other times he goes in empty-handed, but 2D’s willowy frame passes by your door; directly across from Noodle’s. He leaves the door open just a crack to let the hall light filter in her room. Some nights you’ll just sit next your door listening in to his dulcet melodies and slip into a state of contentment yourself. You peacefully doze off whenever he sings, waking up the next morning with a miserable crick in your neck and a borderline murderous attitude when Murdoc rouses you at an ungodly hour to clean something.

For whatever reason, the shadows on this particular day seem to multiply before your eyes, creating messes and getting into shit more than normal. 

You spend the better part of 15 hours cleaning the entire studio from top to bottom. Toilets, common areas, you even managed to get most of the garbage in the car park straightened out. All that work goes to hell in a handbasket in a matter of minutes.

“What the actual shit?!” you spit at Murdoc when he gives you ‘splendid news.’ “I spent all day scrubbing this place down for you to have yet another party?”

“Ah, see, love, y’know, ‘smuch as I wish I could, I can’ control ‘oo the ghosts call over, y’know. Eh, one of ‘em invited Angelina Jolie an’ she brought along a load of ‘er cronies, an’ ‘fore I knew it this place was packed. Good party, though, y’know. Jus’ make sure t’clean up after it’s all done, yeah? An’ keep an eye on ol’ Khong, why don’ ya, ‘e’s in a mood today, an’ ‘e always tries t’flood the toilets when ‘e’s in a mood. ‘Sodd, the insurance covers everythin’ but a two-’undred-year-old ghost floodin’ the place. Anyway, ‘ave fun, love. Join in the festivities if ya can. I expect a clean kitchen table after all this.” There’s a loud crashing sound from somewhere in the general direction of the kitchen. “Y’know what, nevermind. ‘Ll tell Russ t’get a new one. _Again_.”

You stare at the bassist, sincerely wishing you could spit acid in his face. He waited to tell you this minor bit of news until after the lobby was full to capacity of celebrities, socialites, and of course the regular zombies, ghosts, and shadows. 

Murdoc sends you down to the rat-infested breeding ground that’s the cellar to bring up more booze for ‘his guests’. Knowing better, you sulk over to the broom closet to retrieve your trusty broom to shoo away the rats when you got there. You grumble angrily at Murdoc’s audacity, mumbling venomous words and curses as you put your hand on the handle. “Oo’s tha’?” a timid voice calls out in the dark closet. You jump back in surprise, but you recognize the voice. 

“2D? What are you doing in here? You scared me to death,” you fuss at him. 

The anger hadn't quite made its way out of your voice, so it sounded harsher than you meant it to. You see 2D’s silhouette cringe from you in the tiny room. “S-sorry, I dinnit mean ta...” His voice was quiet and shaky, his hands wrapped around his head. You feel a pang of guilt for being unintentionally hard towards him. You step inside the miniscule closet and close the door, blocking out the noise and clatter outside and pulling the light chain to turn on the dim bulb above you. 2D cringed at that too, giving you a miserable look as he sat on a crate of toilet paper. 

“Migraines again?” you say, softly this time, as you settle on an upturned bucket next to him. You reach to turn the light out for him, but he stops you. 

“S’not too bad jus’ yet, bu’ wiv so many people ou’side, makes it ‘ard to ge’ to me room; I keep gettin’ stopped an’ they talk to me for too bloody long. Jus’ need a bi’ o’ quie’ for a momen’.” 

You look him over, his blue hair clutched in his lanky fingers as he opens and closes his fist to alleviate the tension in his poor dented skull. “I can go down and get your pills for you,” you offer, “I was just on my way to the cellar. I can grab them and have you out being a social butterfly again in no time.” 

“To be hones’ I'd like ta jus’ go ta me room an’ stay there. M’no’ really in a par’yin’ mood.”

“That makes two of us,” you agree. He smiles a tired, gapped smile at you, a tiny sort of blush sprinkles across your face, but the lighting is so dim he doesn't notice. “But how will you get down there? If everyone keeps stopping you to talk, you'll never get there.”

“I fig’re I'd jus’ wai’ it ou’, til the par’y’s over y’know?” He winces as a throbbing jolt of pain shoots through his head.

This is unacceptable. The man is on the verge of a terrible headache. You have to do _something._ You wrack your brain until you have a headache yourself for some kind of plan, something to distract people… 

You stand up and pace for a moment, 2D watching you dimly. You crack the door open just a smidgen. You see a massive crowd, spilling shit, smoking shit, just making a shit mess for you to clean in the morning. Shit. You hear drunken giggles to your right and an obviously intoxicated blonde presses her body against some guy and they proceed to make out sloppily against the wall with other party goers passing by them as if they added to the sleazy decor. “That's it!” you grin and close the door.

“Wha’s it?” 2D mutters. “Wha’s hap’nin’?”

You reach for your back pocket and pull out the lip stain you wear every day and apply a generous amount to your lips. You step over to 2D and, steeling yourself and drawing on what little courage you have to do this, plant your lips against 2D’s. You know his eyes are wide with shock, but what you didn't know was that his lips are the softest you've ever kissed. You pull back, breathing heavily, then kiss him him again on his cheeks and forehead, leaving little lip prints all over his face. “Um, wha’re yew doin’?” he asks again. Confused, yes, but he didn't sound particularly upset by it.

“No one's going to stop you if they think you're getting laid, 2D,” you tell him, dotting a few kisses on his neck for good measure. You hear his breath catch in his throat as you kiss a particular spot and you pull back quickly. You look him over...what's missing?

You tousle his hair gently, not wanting to exacerbate his headache any worse than it was. You tug his shirt over his head...nah, that was overkill, but one arm should be enough. “There, that ought to work.” 

“Bu’ wha’ abou’ yew?” 

“Sorry, what?”

2D stands, his eyes twitching as a sting of pain shoots across his face. “If we're goin’ to make ‘em believe I'm gettin’ any action, yew’ve go’ta look th’par’ too.” He grabs your shoulders and his lips capture yours, taking his kiss a step further and pulls your bottom lip into his and sucks on it hungrily until it's red and a bit swollen. He peppers a few kisses on you too, making you feel hot and bothered all over. When he gets to your neck, 2D bites down a bit, leaving a red mark, but not so much to leave any lingering damage. “Ok. D’yew fink this will really work?”

You clear your throat nervously “I think so,” you tell him, popping a few buttons on your shirt and untucking it sloppily. 2D blushes and looks away. The little sweetheart. You complete the look with some roughed up hair and smear your make up. “Ready?”

He nods and you take his hand, pulling him close. You probably should have calculated that butterscotch-y cigarette scent that was somehow more comforting than off-putting, or that his hands would be on you longer than 10 seconds, or that his blank, obsidian eyes were probably more expressive than people give him credit for. You swallow hard and push the door open, pulling him along with a fake drunken giggle.

“C’mon, ‘D,” you slur loudly, “let's go somewhere nice and quiet, eh?”

2D catches on, laughing stupidly with you, and curling his arm around you, staggering a bit to make the scene convincing. “Yew sure yew can be quie’? ‘S a lotta people tha’ll ‘ear us if yer no’.”

You glance around, noting that the people closest to you watched you pull him towards the lift, but said nothing. It was actually working! You whisper this in his ear and he smiles. “This was yer idea, o’course it was gonna work,” he whispers back. You blush a bit as he presses his lips to yours, shocking you for a moment. “We aren’ there ye’. Keep goin’.”

The two of you fake drunken passion all the way down the long corridor that you don't remember being so long. Twice 2D pinned you to the wall, lifting you against it as Murdoc or Russel passed by and covering your face with his, not really kissing you, “Don’ wan’ yew in trouble for ‘elpin’ me like this.”

“Thanks,” you mutter back, though it wasn’t like you were getting paid or anything… 

You reach the lift, 2D clumsily pressing the basement button as he's nipping on your neck sweetly. In retrospect, this might have been a bad idea. He’s rutting softly against your thigh, his tongue begging against yours. He’s getting into this a little too much. And yet your body betrays you as you react to him, your hips daring to meet his and accidental tongue brushes causing you to lose focus until the death trap of an elevator grinds to a halt in the silent basement.

2D backs away from you, pursing his lips with heavily lidded eyes as he gazes down at you. “Fanks for gettin’ me ou’ of tha’.”

“Anytime.” 

He steps off the lift, but suddenly puts a hand out to stop the gate, “Yew should prob’ly wai’ ta go back,” he says soberly to you, “fink they'll fig’re us ou’ if yew go back too soon.”

You wonder just how stupid Murdoc thinks he is. You consider the statement and agree. After all the theatrics you put on, it would be a waste to get here and go back to the first floor. And heaven forbid Murdoc finds you and you haven't gotten his booze. You follow him into his room, not actually having been inside it, you were mildly amused at the keyboard museum he seemed to have on his walls. A fun yellow chair sits against the wall and, brushing away the debris in it, you take a seat there as 2D prepares his medications for himself. 

“Mind grabbin tha’ ‘andle of scotch under me bed, love?” he calls to you from the bathroom. You scramble to the floor, pushing aside this and that to find said scotch, and a few other alcoholic goodies. You aren’t much of a dark liquor girl, so the gin and vodka that’re under there come out too. 2D returns from the bathroom with a hand closed around a couple of pills with the other holding two shot glasses. 2D hands you a glass, then pours himself a shot of the gin. He pours you a shot as well. “To ‘avin’ our own par’y,” he smiles.

“To our own party,” you grin. You toast to your private party and toss it back. You somewhat scowl at 2D as he pops his pills and chases it with gin. You might not be a doctor, but you’re pretty sure you shouldn’t mix the heavy kind of medicine 2D uses regularly with alcohol. He doesn’t seem to mind, so you push the thought out of your head as he pours you another shot.

“How’s your head?” you ask him after a bit of time had passed. You’re starting to feel a little buzzed from what seems to be a never ending shot glass. The two of you finish off the gin and move on to vodka, 2D taking drafts of scotch straight from the bottle, alternating with shots of vodka.

“Feelin’ kinda nice actually,” he tells you with a silly smirk. “Kinda nice ta ‘ave someone ta talk ta me and get drunk wiv.” You smile at this, thinking similarly that it was nice to have decent company while you drank. At some point in the randomosity of discussion you find yourself sitting cross-legged on 2D’s bed, looking down at him as he lies on his back talking to you. “Mind if I smoke?” he asks you.

“It’s your room,” you scoff at him, “do whatever the hell you want.” He sits up and plucks a couple of cigarettes and a lighter from the bedside table. You look longingly at one of them as he flicks his thumb to ignite it, inhaling the menthol-y goodness that he blows back out through his lips. Your hands twitch a little as he rests his hand on his head, the glowing embers on the end beckoning you to spark up too.

He catches you staring and offers one to you. “Wan’ one?” he snickers at you. You give him a sheepish sort of look and take the fag from him. He lights you up and you take a draw on it, savoring that same menthol taste, a soft purr escaping you as you relish the flavor. “Yew’ve never smoked before, ‘ave yew?” he raises an eyebrow at you.

“I tried to quit cold turkey a few months back,” you tell him, “but it’s a hard vice to give up.”

“Oh, I dinnit...I’m--,” he sputters at you. He’s just too damn cute.

“Don’t worry about it, ‘D. It’s not your fault. Besides, living with people like Murdoc would’ve made me fall off the wagon eventually.” The very thought makes you cringe and you pour yourself another shot, if not to make you forget that Satanic douchebag.

“Oh c’mon, Mud’s no’ all tha’ bad,” 2D chuckles at you, but even as he says so, he takes a rather long draw on his scotch. You choose not to argue the point and smoke your cigarette. 2D’s face is flushed from drinking, his words slurring a little as he shifts his body to rest his head in the cross of your ankles, but as he looks up, he notices something that you honestly wonder why he hadn’t said anything before now. “Y-yew’re shir’s still open,” he tells you. He looks away again, but he doesn’t move.

You’re not sure what’s actually going on in your tipsy little head, but your inhibitions seem to have vacated your mind. You lean over him, your bosom just above his face as he tries to look everywhere but up. “Now 2D, we’ve been talking all this time with my shirt open, and you mean to tell me you just now noticed?”

2D fidgets a little, desperate to make eye contact with the plaster on the walls or the threadbare carpet. “I-I no’iced, but ‘s kinda rude to say somefink like tha’ to a woman.” 

“To cover up?” you giggle, taking yet another shot. “It’s not rude if it makes you uncomfortable.” You shimmy a little above him, finally catching his attention with an amused smirk, “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“I--well, kinda…” he sighs. You push off your shirt to tease him a little. He swallows hard, you can tell by the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat; the little kisses you put on his neck are still there. He licks his lips at the sight before him. “‘S no’ the bad kind of uncomf’terble, just the...uncomf’terble kind.”

“What kind of uncomfortable is that?” you ask him. You run your hand through his azure mane, massaging his scalp as you hold your addiction in your other hand. You take a draw on it as you think about it, but keep your drunken focus on 2D.

“The kind tha’ makes me hot an’ bovvred,” he says. He reaches up to touch your face, stroking gently at your cheek. “I fink yew mighta made me a lit’le randy wiv tha’ act we pu’ on. It was pret’y convincin’.”

“Yeah, you were quite convincing,” you tell him. Before you know what you’re doing, before you even consult your brain on the matter, you bend forward and press your lips to his, feeling his push back against you. His hand snakes around to your head, holding you there as he nibbles your lips again, but with a bit more gusto. The sensation of 2D’s lips on yours makes certain parts of you tingle excitedly, wanting to explore more of him with your hands. You reach forward, sliding your hand beneath his undershirt, tickling the sparse blue hairs there and along the little trail that led to the waistband of his jeans.

Oxygen becomes a necessity and the two of you break away, panting a bit, but staring hungrily into each other’s eyes. “Convince me a lit’le more,” he groans. 2D sits up to face you, shedding his t-shirt and scooting closer. You feel hot as he trails a long, spindly finger along your arm, causing little goosebumps to form in its wake. He takes both of your cigarettes and places them in the ashtray on the side table, then plants another kiss on your lips, pushing you gently to lay on your back.

A rather miniscule part of your mind (where the nagging inhibition seems to never want to leave when you’re drunk) thinks this would be an HR nightmare if there was such a department for this domestic servitude that was an internship. However, you ignore it as 2D tickles along your sides, straddling over you as he placed more burning kisses on your face and neck. The world seems to slow down except for the two of you, the only sounds that reach your ears are the sounds of sloppy kisses and heavy breathing, and the occasional gasp as 2D bites down on your sensitive skin.

He backs away from you for a moment, tossing off his undershirt. As plastered as you are, you still frown at the cuts and bruises on his body. “What happened to you?” you ask him.

He wiggles his eyebrows at you, boldly hooking a finger under the cross section of your bra, tugging suggestively, “I like it rough sometimes.” You’re not sure if it was meant to be a joke or not; ‘rough’ didn’t even begin to describe the black and blue skin you were looking at. But the thought floats away into nothingness as he licks and sucks on the skin around your bra, drawing a groan out of you. “D’yew mind?” he asks you as he runs his palms over the fabric that stood between his hands and your breasts.

“Not at all,” you tell him. You match his inebriated smirk as he rolls the two of you over, placing you on top of him. You feel a growing hardness beneath you as 2D unhooks your bra with one hand. “Impressive,” you sneer down at him, “You’ve done this before?”

“I migh’ be a lit’le practiced at it,” he says as he tosses away your undergarment. He licks his dry lips as his eyes rake over the new expanse of skin. “Can I?” 

“Are you going to ask me every time you want something?” you cock an eyebrow at him. He shrugs at you. Sure, he’s a sweet little gentleman, but really...

“Don’ wanna move too fas’ if yew don’ wan’ it,” he replies. You roll your eyes and take his hands and put them to your breasts, 2D somehow blushing even more through his ruddy face. He squeezes and rubs along your breasts, pinching at your sensitive nipples and forcing involuntary jerks from your hips. “Ngh…” he groans. His hips react to yours, thrusting upward and gripping you a bit harder. “Yew...yew sure I don’ needta ask?” he groans up at you.

“You do and this’ll have to stop,” you threaten him. Kind of. It’s an empty threat, but it would be forever before you finally get off if he asks permission for every single thing. “I told you, it’s your room. You make the rules here.” 

2D doesn’t need much more convincing than that. His hands slid from your breasts down your belly to the top of your jeans and unbuttons them, dipping his fingers under the hem of your panties and rubbing along the skin there. Your eyes roll back as he sits up to suck at your nipples while he strokes at your core. “Yer knickers ‘ave ta come off,” he smirks against your chest. “‘Ouse rules, yew undastand.”

You slip off his body and push off both your pants and underwear, 2D’s blank eyes watching you intently. You slink back up to him, pressing a kiss to his lips and temporarily distracting him as you fumble with his jeans and yank them off his body. You eye his erection, parts of you itching for that girth you never thought such a skinny man to have. It’s thicker than you’re used to, not that you have a preference. The last partner you had was about average size and shape, but 2D was a bit, no, a lot more than that. 

While you contemplate how that’s going to fit, 2D reaches over to the side table drawer and fumbles around its contents and pulls out a little yellow square. “Hm, s’me las’ one,” he mutters blandly. He tears open the package and rolls the condom down his length. Once done, he beckons you closer with those long thin fingers, a sinister grin on his face. You make a mental note of that face for later.

“Las’ chance, love,” he breathes. You position your body just above his member; 2D holding your waist to help ease you down when you were ready.

“No objections here,” you sigh and you ease down onto him, both of you losing control of your voices as a loud, throaty moan escapes you and an equally loud groan rattles out of 2D. You start slowly, letting him feel you out as you get adjusted to him. He hits every possible spot that makes you scream and swear pleasurably, his strokes picking up in speed after a few minutes. 

Looking down at him, 2D’s eyes scrunch closed as you ride him faster and harder. He grips your thighs hard and hisses approvingly when a particular stroke causes you to leave shallow scratches on his chest. Maybe he really does like it rough. You test your theory by grabbing a handful of his blue locks and giving it a good tug. “Ngh, yeah…” he grunts at you. He thrusts harder into you, hitching a pleasured scream in your throat. “If yer gonna be doin’ any ‘air pullin’,” he sighs, “it’d be bet’er if we change positions.”

“Another house rule?” you giggle. 

“Somefin’ like tha’,” he mutters. 2D pushes you backward, keeping himself inside you and bracing his arms against the edge of the bed as he hammers into you. With your hands still in his hair, you tug and yank at it, earning little mewls of approval from 2D. You curse and scream as he hits other spots you never knew existed, making your walls close tightly around him. The position is short lived; he pulls out sharply, leaving you breathless and empty. “‘S a lit’le too tigh’, love,” he pants, but there was still a small smile on his mouth.

“Well, maybe if you didn’t feel so good…” you grin back. He looks you over, biting his bottom lip like he was mulling over what to do next. He gives you no warning as he rolls you onto your stomach, pulling at your hips to get you into a kneeling sort of position. He taps the inside of your thighs and you obediently spread them. You hear sucking sounds behind you, but before you can give it much more thought than that, you feel 2D’s finger shove into your sex, then another. You keen at the contact, your body shaking as he touches you, leaving biting kisses on your lower back. And, again, just as quickly as it started, he withdraws sharply.

“If I ge’ too rough,” he growls to you, “stop me. I tend ta ge’ a lit’le ou’ o’control, ‘specially in this position.” He sounds very serious as he tells you this, even if his speech is still a bit slurred. You nod back at him and he pats your waist gently before he pushes his manhood into you, your eyes crossing blissfully at the feeling of him stretching you out fully. He draws back a bit and you tighten around him; you hear a raspy “Bloody ‘ell” as he pushes back in, a little harder. The two of you carry on like this for a few seconds, each thrust becoming harder and harder until your breathing becomes more erratic and the swearing becomes louder. You grip at the edge of the mattress, your knuckles paling as 2D hits harder and deeper. All you can do is pull him in, your core begging for him to pummel you until sitting becomes one hell of a chore for the next few days.

He rubs a hand up your spine, pressing downward to get a nice arch in your back. He reaches the nape of your neck, taking hold of you firmly there and slamming into your sex with near bruising force, then another hand joins the first. You feel him reaching a spot that you feel in your stomach, a tense little knot that triggers a cosmic orgasm as you scream out his name. 2D’s handle on your neck tightens and a few more bruising thrusts later, he comes shakily, mumbling your name through gritted teeth as his hips jerk with the last of it. He releases your neck, kissing it softly. “M’sorry,” he chuckles breathlessly. “S’a bi’ of a mark there.”

“Guess I’ll be wearing scarves for a while, until it fades,” you laugh. You feel him pull out and you turn under him, letting him collapse on top of you. 2D peppers a few sweet kisses on your face before you feel his body tense up. You notice his eyes weren’t focused on you (were they?), but at a point above your head. “What?” you ask.

“H-hey Noods,” he says nervously. “Wha’re yew doin’ up so late?”

“Oh, shit,” you mutter. You turn on your side and see a pair of green eyes wide with shock as she gripped a green melodica in her tiny hands. You and 2D scramble apart, searching for clothes and undergarments as Noodle is frozen in place in her Jigglypuff pyjamas. She flicks her bright green gaze over the two of you for a moment, then, as a canary-eating grin spreads across her face, mutters something in Japanese, then turns and patters away.

“What did she just say?”

“‘’M tellin’.’ Tellin’ ‘o--” He cuts off sharply as it registers in his head, then in yours. “ _Shit._ ” There’s a mad rush to yank clothes back on -- you’re pretty certain you’re wearing 2D’s pants and possibly his underwear -- and scrabble into the hall as the elevator dings and rattles back upward, and you make a detour for the stairs instead.

You’re probably not getting that promotion anytime soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Yowza! This is really long. Curse you smut brain!!! Lol! It was an honor and a pleasure to work with toxicNeurosis on this and I hope there will be more collabs in the future!
> 
> Keep on smuttin!


End file.
